Harrry Potter and the Soul's Silhouette
by Rethion gameot
Summary: Harry has defeated Lord Voldemort, ending the second war...yet a dark wizard rises from it's ashes. Struggling with loss and a love he never expected, Harry finds himself lost in a struggle with not just the dark wizard Michael Cain, but himself.
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter

and

_The Soul's Silhouette_

__**I do not own harry Potter**

** Chapter 1: The Black Tower **

_it is a curious thing to contemplate one's own mortality..._

Pressed dark against the moon lit sky, the black tower silhouetted itself against the piercing night's illumination. Floating ominously over the still, silver lake, it mirrored itself below; a perfect mettalic black marred only by a single balcony at it's peak. Standing pale against the soft light illuminated behind him, the young man stood. His black eyes traced the horizon, dancing along the rolling hills that greeted them. A cold wind played across his pale hands resting on the balcony, reaching above and beyond to his long, ebony hair, rolling it along in it's wake. Short and thin, one might be careless enough to assume him nothing more then a teenage boy. Only his face told of his age, not by virtue of it's boyish apperance, but by the worn look it carried. Clothed in flowing robes of black, gold and white, he took little notice of the night's bitter cold, lost in thought with noone but the moon to accompany him.

_It makes all things seem less fulfiling or meaningful. What pursuit in life can be taken with us into death? What can be made eternal in such finate conditions?_

His eyes turned towards the moon, shinning bright within the night's sky. A golden glint shone from his side; a golden wand bore with red streams illuminated like a star from the moon's light, sending the man's face into sharp definition. His boyish good looks were marred by a single black scar that cut from his lips through to his right eye, standing out boldly against his pale skin.

_It is no wonder why he fears death. Why he has pursued the boy mercilessly. It is the boy that he fears...more then he feared the late Dumbledore. But why? What makes him so certain that this boy can threaten him so? Has he truly bought into that "chosen one" talk? No...it can't be just that. He would need more then a misguided public's_

_opinion to take action. He is far too intellegent to be taken by the masses. Although I suppose it is irrelevent WHY he has chased the boy so far....He has him cornered, backed into a wall with no where to run. Tonight...everyone shall see if he is indeed the chosen one._

Quiet stole the night as the wind stoped cold. Many years had he waited for this night. Voldemort's 13 year disapperance had been completely irrelevent...for how could he have put into action all his dreams while Dumbledore still drew breath? Yet like a snake, voldemort crawled out of his hole to strike back, this time taking his greatest enemy to the grave. Dumbledore had fallen...but worse then this great opponent stood Voldemort, infinately more merciless in his tolerance for his ambitions. It was such an irony that the two greatest wizards of the age would also become his greatest opponents. It was always them that made him hide...them that forced him into seclusion. Yet if it was true...if Harry Potter was in fact the chosen one...then he could finally continue with his great work. No more hiding, no more masking his moves....yes, what a glorious day it would be if the greatest dark wizard woild fall on this night.

A loud cry of a raven cut across the lake, tearing through the silence and the man's thoughts. Comming to rest upon the balcony, the raven cawed up at his master, spreading out silver stained wings as he streched. Regarding the bird a moment, he lifted him up and carefully unfurled the note tied to his leg. The raven took flight, entering the tower behind him, leaving the man alone.

22 seconds.

The note continued to count down on it's own merit, even after he tossed it to the winds mercy. Pulling his wand out, he closed his eyes as he began to mumble archaic words, forming strange geographic shapes of deep gold as his wand danced through the air as if it were solid parchment. As more and more complex shapes arose, his movements quickened, until he was a blur of arcane words and gestures, finally turning about face and dragging his wand along a seemingly very solid air, fighting some unseen resistance until...

"SOLVO FRENUM!"

An explosion of silver light flashed from the tower top, bright as the moon above. The defining boom echoed across the lake, sending ripples across its surface. For a moment, nothing more occured, but as if an invisible drape were disturbed, the air around the tower began to ripple. The invisible curtain fell slowly along it's surface, disappearing just before it hit the lake's surface. Pointing his wand at a seemingly empty, random spot, he stood stock still, as if expecting something. For a few seconds, nothing occured. Suddenly, a loud crack broke the silence; a kneeling cloaked women , deeply robed, appeared where the man pointed his wand. Deep purple eyes found his from deep within her cloaked hood, sparing the wand a glance before standing to her fullest. The man's wand fell to his side as she withdrew from her cloak.

"Has the dark lord fallen?" He asked.

Sliping from her cloak, she turned to face him again. Something about her beauty seemed too perfect; for she was indeed, a beauty that none but the veela could rival. Long dark hair fell and swayed perfectly along a lithe figure. Olive skin on perfectly formed legs showed through a high slited purple and gold skirt, flowing perfectly into a low cut purple and silver top. Her eyes showed no inkling of compasion: only purpose.

"The dark lord died from his own spell. Not sure what's protecting that boy, but it reflected the dark lord's avada kadavra curse. I wasn't aware any magic could deflect a curse of that power..."

"You are certain?" He asked, his eagerness betraying his composer. "You saw him die yourself?"

"I was there when it happened, just as you asked of me."

Falling back into a chair, he closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. So many years....how he had waited for this day to come. There were dark moments when he had feared he may never be free of the dark lord's shadow, or Dumbledores piercing eyes. The only wizards he had ever feared were now no more then a bad memory. Grindlevald, found dead in his cell, Dumbledore betrayed to his death, and now Voldemort, murderer of the best wizards of the age, defeated by the boy he failed to kill when he was no more then a baby. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of the chair. He barely noticed his wand slip from his hands as it landed on the floor with a loud crack.

"Michael..." She asked, rushing to his side. "Michael, are you alright?"

Opening his eyes, Michael regarded her with a smile. Touching her face gently, he looked up at her with his dark eyes, but his look was one of loving care.

"I haven't felt this alright in thirty years, Cadence." Letting his hand fall to his side, he looked up into the sky. The night sparkled with heaven's lights, and each one shined only for him. Thousands of miles away, at Hogwarts, the corpse of his enemy lay wasted at the hands of a mere boy. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, had defeated the greatest dark wizard the world had ever known.

"Would you like me to put the Frenum charm back in place?" Cadence asked, taking out a lavender wand.

"No more need...." A soft, dark laugh escaped his lips. Michael returned to his dark composer; calm, cool and deadly. "With the fall of

V-Voldemort, who do we have to fear? Let them apparate."

Picking up his wand, Michael swept from the balcony into his room, Cadence close behind.

The room held a dark, majestic aura. Black tomes and bloody pages in frames lined the ebony walls. A spectacular mural of angels falling before an onslaught of demons covered the rolling, dome ceiling. A large pearl white carpet fell below this. Occasionally, the demons would drag an angel across the walls, violently tearing his wings off before devouring the helpless creature. The battle raged across the room; the silent fury of a demonic horde left to it's own designs. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes of various age and condition. Shelves of odd chemicals and strange supplies filled an entire wall, some with vials of still living creatures despreately attempting to escape their fate. A large half dome hung from the ceiling, filled with a strange black substance that boiled with such vigor only magic kept it within it's container. A grand bed laid against the back wall, draiped in black silk blankets with golden trim. Grim, moving pictures of terrifying duels stood on tables beside the bed, along with a single picture of Michael and Cadence in a deep embrace.

With a simple flick of his wand, a cabnet burst open, a bottle of fine wine floating along at his command, trailing along with it 2 glasses.

"I bought this wine thirty years ago just for this moment..." With another casual flick, the cork popped off, the bottle filling generous amounts of wine into both glasses. Smiling down into his glass, Michael's black eyes reflected from it's depths. "Thirty years I have been delayed. Thirty years of frustration and fear..."

Drawing close to him, Cadence put her arm around him, allowing him to drink from her glass. Kissing him gently, so caressed him as she spoke. "No magic can bring back the dead...and with his horacrux's gone, he is gone-"

Wine flew across the floor, the glass shattering onto the floor. withdrawing like a wounded animal, Cadence grasped her wrist, looking hurt and confused. Michael had knocked her arm off of him, a sudden shock gripping him.

"Michael? Why did yo-"

"Did you say Horacrux's?"

"well....yes, but-"

"As in MORE then just one? The dark lord made MORE then one?"

"Yes...but why-"

'How do you know this?"

"I'm just saying what that Potter boy was saying, thats all! He told the dark lord he no longer could hide behind his horacrux's."

Dumbstrick, Michael stood for a few moments in shock. Horcacrux's? It would be foolish to assume the greatest dark wizard of all time did not possess a horacrux, but had he really found a way to create more then one? Could the human soul sustain such massive damage? Spliting your soul once was dangerous enough, but twice...? Or had he done more? How many horacrux's did Voldemort create?

"Michael....? Whats wrong?"

Wordlessly, Michael began searching his book shelves, tossing aside novels with a single minded determination. Pulling out a book seemingly binded with skin, he quickly began flipping through its pages. Somewhere in here, there must be a passage....a note, anything pertaining to what he needed to know.

"Michael, what are you-"

"Leave me, now." He replied, not taking his eyes off the book.

"But-"

Stuck silent from the look he shot at her, she gave up on him. Hesitating for a moment, she gave him one last hurtful look before disapperating.

There was nothing....not a single refrence in _secrets of the darkest art_ on multiple horacrux's. Voldemort had been the first to attempt such a daring act. Truly brilliant....there was no doubt why he was such a great wizard. But just how far did he go? How far could he, Michael, go to ensure his own immortality? Was three splits the limit? Or did Voldemort go further? If he couldn't find the answer in these books...where could he go to find the truth?

Staring blankly at the wall, Michael watched lost in thought as a group of angels took the upperhand against a lone demon, holding him down while another angel impaled him. The demon writhed in pain, but eventually grew still. Voldemort had fallen...someone had discovered his secret and destroyed his horacrux's, then took his life. How they came ot this knowledge...well, it was not important. What was important was that that someone knew exactly how many times Voldemort has split his soul.

Dawning his traveling cloak, Michael turned on the spot, and was soon sufficated in darkness, pulled through nothing as if sucked through a straw. Only one thought crossed his mind as he appeared at the border of Hogwarts: The boy who lived had some questions to answer.

"Harry?"

Hermione's voice broke Harry's trance. He had been staring deeply into the lake, lost in thought. He had almost forgotten Hermione was beside him; his mind was lost in the day's events. He was exhasted...Nearly 2 full days without sleep. It seemed an eternity ago he came out of Grignots riding a vicious, deadly dragon that had been just as intent upon killing him, Hermione and Ron as the army of goblins they were escaping. It was seemingly forever ago that he stood in Amberforth's home, trying to find a way into Hogwarts. But it was the memories he wanted to seem forever ago that were still fresh in his mind: George's death, Lupin's body beside Tonk's, all the wounded and dead students he had grown up with, fighting to fend off Voldemort's forces. And Voldemort himself. Staring into his red snake eyes in the forbidden forest. Watching him lift his wand that took his, Harry's, life for the briefest of moments. And finally standing his ground against him, face to face, in the final moments of Voldemort's life. That final cry of hatred Voldemort echoed in his mind. That last look of evil in those rage filled red snake eyes would forever haunt him. He was drained...emotionally wasted. He needed time alone, which was fine for Ginny and Ron to give him. George was dead, and the family needed to be together to grieve for their loss. But Hermione...as much as he yearned for time alone, he couldn't help but be thankful for her staying with him. It was comforting to have a friend like her close by.

"Harry, whats bothering you?"

"I-" He was on the verge of saying 'I'm Fine', but something in her concerned expression stoped him. Her and Ron had been there with him through it all. True, he went alone to face Voldemort, but they had always had his back, no matter how bad things got. He could trust them with anything, so why should he hide it now? Before he knew it, he was telling her everything. How he had felt when he walked to his death to face Voldemort, how he felt responsable for everyone who died to protect him, how he felt the Weasley's would and should stop talking to him because of George. Harry felt the burden grow more and more as he spoke, feeling the weight of all that had happened since he first put the sorting hat on 7 years ago.

"Evreryone is treating me like a hero just because Voldemort is dead. That won't bring everyone back to life...everyone who died because of me." Harry's eyes bured with tears, but none fell. Burying his head into his arms, he found a little beatle crawling along his robes. This reminded him of Rita Skeeter, writter for the Daily Prophet, and remembered how she didn't bother to mention Cedric Diggory in her report on the triwizard tournament. Cedric...just another person who wouldn't have had to die.

"You can't blame yourself for what Voldemort and the death eaters did." She consoled, offering him a gentle hug. It was comforting, and for a bit, he felt as if the burden on his chest was easier. She pulled away, and at once he wished she didn't; the weight came back as strong as ever. "Your a good person Harry. Evreyone at Hogwarts will tell you the same thing. Well, maybe not Grawp, but if he knew the words I'm sure he would too!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh. That was normally Ron's job...making jokes, or lightening a horrible situation, but she was trying, and that meant a lot to Harry.

Looking down the lake, they watched the herd of Centaurs rush along the battle-worn school grounds, Grawp laughing and running behind them, in complete bliss with the world. It was a beautiful mourning...the sun glistened off the lake's surface like a million diamonds all fighting to glitter brighter then the rest. A soft breeze carried it's refreshing wave across the gounds, carrying away the smell of ash and war that still lingered in the battle's wake. But why did he feel a draft going through his robes? After a moment inspection, he found a large tear in the back of his robe. Without thinking about it, he reached into his pocket to take out his wand but discovered two there. How could he have forgotten? He had the wand of destiny still....he had to return it to it's proper resting ground. Taking out his regular wand, Harry repaired the tear and stood up.

"Hey, I need to return Dumbledore's wand. I'll be right back."

"Alright....I'll wait for you." Hermione smiled, staring back out at the lake, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Hey Harry!" She called out, stopping him midstep.

"Yeah?"

Her eye's pierced him in a way he only ever felt from Dumbledore, as if she was looking for something in him. Her smile never faultered.

"...He would be proud of you."

Her words stuck with him as he walked on. Dumbledore, proud of him? Why? Because he caused the deaths of so many people simply by existing? Sure, Dumbledore might offer him all the praise in the world, but what did he know? What did anyone know? Why didn't anyone else see that these simple facts?

Students passed him by as he went, laughing and smiling, cheering and praising Harry as a hero wherever they came across him. It was almost too much; how could they be so ignorant? Didn't they know that all this death was because of him? So many lives could have been saved if he hadn't come to Hogwarts...there must have been an easier way. What about the vanishing cabinets? Why hadn't he thought of them? He would have been right beside the horacrux....he could have gotten it and been gone, then had more time to plan how to Kill Voldemort. Why did he, Harry, always have to make the wrong decisions?

Harry's brooding was interrupted when he noticed he wasn't the only visitor to Dumbledore's grave. Standing, draped in marvelous robes of black, gold and white, stood a pale, dark hared man, no older then harry. He stood stock still, statue like, as if the grave held some important information for him that he may never get if it noticed he was there. There was a slightly troubling air about the man. Something about him reminded Harry of a distant nightmare long forgotten. Approaching catiously, Harry tried to catch the man's face before he took notice.

"Harry Potter." The man began, without ever turning around. "I am honored to meet the hero of Hogwarts....no, the hero of the wizarding world at large." He faced Harry, purely black eyes meeting deep green. Holding out a hand, Harry took it uncertainly.

"Um...yes....who are you?" Harry asked, not sure what to say.

"I am Michael Cain. And you, are the boy, no, the man who can solve my problem."

**I look forward to your reviews! My next post will be on may 23!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Ok so I must apologize for the time it took me to complete this. I had originally hoped to have this done by the 23rd, but being the cruel mistress that life is, I found myself preoccupied. I must offer a correction to chapter 1. Foolish as I was, I had been utterly possitive George had died in DH, but I was highly mistaken. That being said, I feel that I did not offer Harry or Hermione enough time, and I had all but forgotten Ron. I promise you that this chapter will focus heavily on them (well Harry and Hermione more then Ron). Oh and this is where my book takes the M rating. I have also changed my story to a Romance/drama, as you will see in this chapter. And as always, reviews are always wanted!_

_**Chapter 2: The proposal**_

How could this boy have defeated Lord Voldemort? It was utterly preposterous that the paragon of the dark arts could meet his end at the hands of such a pathetic simpleton! But yet and still, there he stood before Michael, lightning bolt scar dead center, green peircing eyes and untidy black hair to boot. No matter how utterly insane it was, lord Voldemort had died...and it was by the efforts of this boy.

Michael's friendly expression never faultered as he stared into Harry's eyes. Yet still, something tugged at the back of Harry's mind. Those ebony eyes not withstanding, there was an air about this man that unnerved Harry. But that was crazy...he didn't even know him. His forearms were visible, yet no dark mark could be seen along their pale expanses. Shaking off the feeling, Harry tried to muster a smile.

"Your...problem?" Harry repeated, transfixed by those black eyes that bored into his. They reminded him of Snape...

"Indeed." Michael began. Turning, he began making his way past the old fool's grave. Strange that he should find Harry by Dumbledore's resting spot. Perhaps he, Michael, was not the only one reminiscing about his past dealings with the late master wizard.

Harry followed the wizard, confused by his mysterious manner. Where had he come from? And come to think of it, why was he visiting Dumbledore's grave? Was he an old acquaintance? Before he could voice his questions, Michael continued.

"I must thank you first of all, mr. Potter. It is thanks to you that the wizarding world is free from he-who-must-not-be-named. The world owes you a debt of gratitude."

Unsure of how to respong to his flattery, Harry decided not to say nothing at all. He was suddenly reminded of walking along the burrow's garden with the late minister, who also wanted something from him. But that time he knew what the minister was after...this man was an unknown entity; charismatic, mysterious, intellegent and slightly off setting.

Michael had not expected the boy's humble attitude...had he not just slain the greatest wizard to ever walk the earth? Had he not survived a thousand encounters with the darkest forces the world had ever seen? If flattery wouldn't work on him then he would have to reevaluate his strategy.

"I am sure you must be tired of hearing it. Forgive me. In my haste to offer you some unnessecery praise, I have neglected to bring up why I have stolen some much needed rest from you. I work for the Potentate of the America's internal defense, AID if you will. Our Potentate was instructed by the America's Minister to investigate into he-who-must-not-be-"

"Voldemort." Harry interjected, suddenly annoyed by the man's aversion to a dead man's name. To his suprise, Michael did not flinch as he had expected. He did however stop midstep to turn to face Harry. He was smiling. More unnerved then before, Harry's curiousity became overbearing. "You can say his name you know. Dumbledore never feared to say it, so why should we?" 

Purplexed, Michael's mind began running into overdrive. Loyal as a dog to a dead man, fearless of the dark lord, and still humble to boot. Quite the fucking knight in shinning armor, wasn't he? Still, he had his weakness, just as any man.

"You are brave, mr. Potter. Braver then many in my line of work, which is saying quite a lot. Thirty years ago, when Voldemort first rose to power, I was charged with undertaking an investigation into Voldemort's considerable strengths in the likely possibility that he were to move against the America's-"

"Thirty years ago?" Harry asked, his eyes tracing the young man's apperance. Surely he would have to be in his fifty's, but this man looked to be barely older then him.

"My apperance is decieving yes...I work with many gifted witches and wizards who took the time to alter my apperance to better suit one Voldemort would consider not a threat; aka a student. Truly he was mistaken, as you have proven." Deception was such an easy game for the dark wizard, one he took great delight in. He had been many things to many people...a scholar in search of an old vampiric tome, the last descendent of Godric Griffindor, the brother you never knew you had...each one as convincing as the last. Over the many years of his life Michael had grown accustomed to answering holes in his roles as smooth and convincing as the devil's tounge he posessed. None the less, Harry was keeping him on his feet, and Michael did not like to dance.

Harry had never considered that other nations may have been working to gaurd themselves against the threat Voldemort possed, but now that he considered it, he felt rather foolish that he hadn't. "So what's your deal? He's dead, isn't he? Why are you still here?"

"Because he won't be the last dark wizard who tries to sieze power." He didn't even have to lie that time...indeed, another would come, perhaps sooner then anyone expected. "Once I had confirmed Voldemort's death, I was ordered to learn all I could about his past. We at AID are determined to learning what makes a dark wizard, the magics they employ, and how we can prevent them from rising at all."

"And you need me to tell you what I know about Voldemort, don't you?" Harry finished. So that's what he wanted huh? An interview. It sounded like an alright cause...but something in Harry's gut warned against him. The same feeling he always got before something terrible happened.

"Yes, and your personal experience would be an immense help to our cause." He had him! It was always so easy to manipulate those weak, trusting people, and Harry was no different. He could taste his own immortality, and how sweet it lingered upon his lips...

But he did not speak. Harry stood still, silently contemplating the dark eyed man before him. He was reminded of Tom Riddle's diary; that silver tounged portion of Voldemort's soul that used Ginny to open the chamber of secrets, and how Ginny had trusted it's words, giving herself over to his power. What if this charming individual was nothing more then another serpent trying to strengthen his venom?

The damnable boy continued to stare at Michael, as if the simple question was too hard for his limited mind to grasp. He should just torture the information out of him...or perhaps the Imperious Curse...yes, that would do nicely. They were alone, and its not like a 17 year old brat could defend himself against Michael's magic. Casually, michael's hand drifted to his wand...

He stoped, masking his movement by brushing some strands of hair away from his face. It was this 17 year old brat that defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time, one that even he had failed to kill. Perhaps a direct attack was not in his best interest.

"I understand your tired, mr. Potter. If you wish to rest and take your time to think on this, I will gladly come back at another date."

Rest...now that sounded good. After all that happened, Harry was far too tired to figure out what this man was truly after. Some sleep would help him focus easier anyhow...

"Yeah...that sounds good. How will you reach me?"

"Oh come on now, mr. Potter..." Michael smiled, offering him his hand once more as he turned to walk away. "There won't be a single witch or wizard alive who won't know where the famous Chosen One sleeps."

"So you reckon this bloke is after something?" Ron asked, coercing a rather reluctant pawn in front of a murderous queen.

The dorm had been left graciously empty the next mourning, Dean Nevelle and Seamus all having been ousted by a rather uncharacteristic act of mercy by professor McGonagall intent upon giving Harry some quiet time. Sunlight filtered through a shattered window to the left of Harry's bed that had resisted all his attempts at repairing it. It had taken all the expertise him, Hermione and Ron (when forced to) had to repair the large holes the death eaters had blasted through the tower. An odd, slightly green smoke still permiated the ground, floating about on it's own, occasionally casting leering faces at the two. Dark magic, Harry reminded himself, always left traces in it's wake. Having just finished up telling Ron about the wizard from AID over a game of wizarding chess, Harry found his concentration lacking. The sun comming in from the broken window was blinding...almost as if someone had taken a picture but the flash refused to end. Thinking about it reminded him of Colin Creevy: just another victem of Harry's existence. He was only 16...he didn't need to die. It wasn't right of him, Harry, to have assumed he would go back home. He worshiped Harry like a hero; of course he was going to stay. He should have asked him to go home...of course he would have listened to his hero. Some hero he turned out to be...

"Hey, Harry? You there bud?" Ron asked, snapping his fingers. Looking up, Harry smiled quickly.

"Yeah...sorry. I don't know...maybe I'm just being paranoid." Pushing his queen forward, Harry watched her cut the pleading pawn in two, dragging it off the board.

"Well, I think your overthinking it, mate. I mean, he's caput, ya know? Everyone knows he's not coming back this time, so it's not like your new friend is some death eater in disguise."

Harry smiled, thinking back to what Sirius Black said._ The world isn't seperated into good people and death eaters_.

"Yeah...your right."

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the stairs. Drawing his wand with lightning speed, Harry pointed it towards the doorway, ready for anything that may come. A mane of bushy hair followed by Ginny stoped in the doorway, slightly startled. Stuffing his wand back into his pocket, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Another piece of wood was in there. Damning himself, Harry promised he would remember to return Dumbledore's wand befor the night was out.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "You need to come see this!"

Confused, but suddenly determined, Harry jumped off the bed and rushed down the stairs with Ron in his wake. Rushing along the corridors and jumping down flights of stairs, they blazed by frightened students and worried teachers. _What the hell else could have happened?_ Harry thought, running straight through the bloody barron, barely noticing the wave of ice that passed through him. His heart raced as he bounded on, hurtling over knocked over suits of armor and chunks of walls still not repaired from the battle, finally reaching a large group of students and teachers all crowded around a broom cuboard. Their whispering stoped at once as Harry approached. Pushing aside, they left enough room for Harry to get to the cuboard, all eyes glued to him. The door was slightly ajar; sitting beside it was a violently quivering Romilda Vain. Looking up at Harry, she broke into tears, covering her face with her palms.

"I-I just w-walked by! I swear! Th-The door was o-open so I peeked inside...I-I was just Curious! But it-s G-GONE! W-Where did it g-go?"

A sudden terrible dawning crossed Harry's mind. Not this cuboard...please god don't let it be this cuboard...

But he already knew...there was nothing else that could cause this much fear. It was impossible! There was no way...but it was. He knew it even before he opened the door, and seeing the empty room, bare except for a few brooms that lined the wall, that it was true.

Everyone eyed Harry's back. He dared not turn to see the fear in their eyes, because that would confirm his own fears. He couldn't have...it was impossible.

"Harry...?" Ginny asked, her voice shaking ever so slightly. He finally turned to face the crowd, but he had eyes only for her, Hermione and Ron. He couldn't deny it...no one could. No one would be so sick as to consider this a joke... This was the cuboard where they put Voldemort's body.

Laying awake in his bed, Harry couldn't help but wonder just how far Voldemort's power extended. There was no way he could have survived the avada kedavra curse. He watched him die. Someone had to have moved his corpse. There was no possible way Voldemort was alive. No...he wouldn't believe it.

Turning over, Harry could make out Ron's frightened expression. He doubted anyone was asleep in the castle that night. They had worked too hard, fought too much , lost too many lives for Voldemort to still be alive.

But what use did anyone have with his corpse? It made no sense... Just thinking about it was driving him crazy...and crazy was not where he wanted to be that night. He had hoped to spend the night with Ginny, not laying awake worrying about some walking dead guy.

"Fuck it." Harry said aloud. Throwing his blankets off himself, he marched to the dorm's door, feeling the eyes of the other's on his back. Voldemort had fucked up too many things in his life to let his dead body get in the way of what he wanted. He wanted to see Ginny, and fuck whatever else was going on. Harry was sure she was as scared as he was, and that now more then ever he should be by her side. Taking his first step onto the stair case leading up to the girl's dorm, he felt it shake for a moment but it didn't collapse into a slide as it had when Ron tried years before. Something must have disrupted the magic durring the fight. Smiling at his good fortune, Harry made his way up the stairs quietly. Making his way into Ginny's dorm, he silently moved between the beds, trying to seek out her's. The beds were much more colorful then the boy's, red and gold was often woven into flowing purple and blue, creating a very pleasing blankets, some of which lay bunched up at the end of empty beds. The damage to the castle had been much less servere here, or they had been more sucsessful in repairing the damage then Harry had. A few poster's of Lockheart and other young men moved in the dim light, creating an eerie atmosphere to the otherwise pleasent, moonlit room. After a little while of searching, Harry found her. Laying curled up like a kitten, she had kicked her blanket off herself, somehow finding a way to fall asleep dispite the night's events. Picking up the blanket, he tucked her in gently, brushing her cheek with his lips. She was very pretty...always had been. He was very lucky to have someone like her in his life. Sitting down on her bed, he watched as her chest rose up ever so slightly with each breath, her soft features all the more beautiful in the moon light. Maybe, as much as he hated himself for wishing it, this was all just a very bad joke someone pulled. But no one, not even the weasley twins, would have ever tried something so terrible. No...they weren't twins anymore, Harry reminded himself. Fred was dead. He would never hear his jokes again, or laugh at his pranks. And what would happen to His and George's shop? Why, damnit, did he let them die? Fred didn't have to die...no one had to. And there was no one else to blame other then himself. Harry didn't deserve such a beautiful girl...no, such a beautiful women. He didn't deserve anything at all...except, maybe, the same fate as everyone who tried to protect him.

"...Harry?" One of the bunched up blankets said, catching Harry off gaurd. His hand dived into his pocket, drawing out the wand of destiny as he looked towards the bewitched blankets.

Hermione sat there, half hidden behind one of the blankets, sitting up with her knees pressed up against her chest. She was staring at him with sparkling eyes, tears running down her face glistening in the soft moon light. Taken back by her sudden apperance, and the tears that she quickly tried to brush away, Harry had half forgotten he had his wand pointed at her chest. Quickly stuffing it away, he moved silently over to her side.

"Hermione?" He said uncertainly, not quite sure what to do or say. "Is everything ok?" 

"Yes...well no." She corrected, trying to stem the flow of tears. "I...I'm just not s-sure what to think. I mean, h-he can't be back...can he?" 

Gently putting his arm around her, he gave her a little squeeze. Being brave...or at least pretending to be, was something he could give her. Besides, having her close was comforting.

"No, he can't be. He's dead, and thats all there is to it." He said firmly, not as sure of himself as he made himself sound. "I'm sure that this is nothing more then some really bad joke made by an asshole. You said it yourself, no magic can bring back the dead."

"I know..." She answered, sniffing quetly. "I'm just scared I guess. We went through so much to make sure he would never come back...so many people died to make sure of it...I don't ever want to think about him again." She finished bluntly.

She was right...they had lost quite a lot to prevent him from coming back. Tonks, Lupin, Fred, Moody, Dobby, sirius, Dumbledore...everyone of them trying to protect him. Every single one of them, another life needlessly wasted to protect a boy who made all the wrong decisions.

His arm retracted from her, tears finally begining to burn in his eyes. He had failed them all. Failed everyone. The boy who lived turned out to be nothing more then a death sentence to everyone who knew him. He was sick of himself...sick of everything that made him Harry Potter. So many times people tried to steer him in the right direction, but he never listened. Why did he always have to play hero?

"Harry?" Hermione asked. She hadn't expected (or wanted if she was to be honest with herself) him to withdraw from her. But why was he suddenly crying? What had she said? He wasn't afraid...no, it was never like Harry to be afraid. Harry, who always knew what to do, who always knew what to say...Harry couldn't be afraid. He had faced Voldemort full in the face, unafraid and determined, and ended that evil man's life once and for all. Or did he...? No, he was dead. Harry was right. She put her arms around his mid section, resting her head on his shoulder. This...felt nice. She really liked it...but no, she needed to figure this out. Why was he upset? "Whats wrong?"

"All those people..." Harry managed to say, the tears falling stronger the more he spoke. "They never needed to die." Her presence was warm, comforting...something about it made him stop. He felt foolish...and a bit guilty, to be enjoying Hermione's touch. But he didn't want it to end... He put his arm around her again, this time taking her close to him. His tears came to a stop after a few moments, her fingers ever so gently caressing his chest. Her skin was soft, very soft. He dared to let himself put his other hand onto her stomach, positive there was nothing wrong with it. They were friends... its not like he was, cheating. And even if it was... he wasn't with Ginny... and she wasn't with Ron... There was no way this was cheating...

Hermione stifled a soft sigh. Now this was nice...when was the last time she had this? Vicktor Crum? God, that was...3 years ago? But no, she needed to stay on track...why was she this close to him? Oh yes...she was...comforting him. He was a friend in need, thats all. Yep. Thats it. What did he need? Oh it was...uh...something. Oh yes, he was upset, and she didn't know why...she should figure that out. But his hand had found her stomach. Why did he put it there? But of course, she was crying, and he wanted to make her feel better. Yes, they both just needed...comfort... No, she needed to figure out why he was upset. Gathering herself as best she could, Hermione looked up into his eyes. They were beautiful...she had never appreciated how green they really were. "Harry, you can't save...everyone..." She said. Was it just her imagination, or was he moving closer?

Harry barely heard her, and it took longer for him to understand what she had said. He felt himself moving closer to her, like some need was pulling his lips to her's like a magnet on metal. It was irresistable...he just wanted to taste her. But it was rude to not reply to...whatever she had said. Oh yes...he can't save everyone. "I know I can't...but they never had to-"

Too much. He moved forward, his lips eagerly greeting her's. This was wrong...no it wasn't, it was so right. Fighting spasms of guilt, they continued to softly kiss, completely oblivious to everything around them except the all encompasing need driving themselves forward. Hermione let out a soft gasp as Harry's lips grazed her neck, leaving moisture that glistened softly in the moon light. She met his lips once more, growing in intensity as her body slowly came over his, gently pushing him down on the bed. This was wrong! No, this was terribly wrong! But she would never, never stop...no, the world would surely end if this were to stop...

He refused to look her in the eye, afraid the sudden realization of what they were doing would end this blissful moment. Besides...they were single... they didn't have any commitment to anyone. That guilt he felt wasn't warrented. This was good a thing...this was an amazing thing.

His hands ran up her sides, his thumbs coming to rest under her breasts as his hands began to message her gently. A soft moan escaped hermione's lips, finally pulling away from her kiss. She closed her eyes and let what she felt send ripples of pleasure through her body. She lifted one leg over him, strattling him as he continued gently squeezing and rubing, as he began pulling one of her night gown's shoulder straps down. She needed to fight this, she had to fight this! She couldn't do this to Ron...but she couln't muster the will to fight. She slipped her arm out of the loop, as she pulled her other arm clear. With a gentle tug, her gown fell down to her waist, her bear breasts quickly covered by eager hands. Hermione gave in, throwing her self back on top of him, eagerly kissing and biting his neck with every fervent desire her body could muster.

Completely overcome, Harry returned her eagerness, aggresively bitting and kissing as his hands continued to work. His member rose within an instant. Knowing he couldn't hide it, (and why should he?), he rolled over, laying her on her back as he threw himself on top of her, pulling and tugging her nipples ever so slightly with his teeth. Her back arched, his hands finding passage lower and lower down her stomach. Her breath quickened, her body shaking. Slowly, her hands began moving from his chest to his belt, undoing the strap that held back what she wanted so badly. He stoped to allow her to continue, taking off his shirt as his pants fell from his waist. For a moment, their eyes met, causing guilt to rise through him like fire, but it wasn't enough to make him stop. slowly, he moved forward, his face to her's, and gave her a tender kiss. She responded enkind, and after a few seconds, the broke away, and she could no longer bare to look into his eyes. Closing them, she let her hand move back down his stomach as his followed suit upon her. Her initial touch sent shivers throughout his body, making him momentarily paralized as she began to stroke. Recovering himself, his hand continued it's descent, gently caressing her. Her breathing quicked, unable to stop herself from moaning. And with a quick movement, his fingers slid inside her body.

She let out a gasp. A sensation shot up her body not unlike lightning. It was amazing...she had never experienced this before. Back and forth, he kept them moving, gathering speed as she quickened her strokes. She moved her body to his rhythm, a deep, wonderful feeing filling her up, building within her like a rush. Oh god, how she never wanted this to end. Her back arched on it's own as he touched a spot deep within her, sending pleasure up her spine as she let out a high moan. She cried out his name, so satisfying it was that she barely noticed time go by, or that her hand was wet with Harry's orgasm, or the sound of the bed creaking beside them. This was all that mattered. Without warning, it ended... but she wasn't done. She wanted more...she was on the verge of demanding he continue when she felt his body on top of her's.

Harry's initial orgasm sent white lights into his vision, blinding him in a way he would have accepted for the rest of his life if it meant the feeling rushing through him would never end. But he wasn't done...his body wanted more. Laying on top of her, he kissed her, letting his lips linger on hers. He forced himself to look into his eyes... dispite all that had happened, he wanted, no, he needed to know he could take this to the next level. His initial orgasm had brought some sense back to him, and with it, dispite his body's longing, he knew that tomorrow would come, and he would have to face himself for what he did that night. She was beautiful...and that hungry look that was so uncharacteristic upon her face made her all the more sexy. He had always found hermione attractive...well, at least after she had her teeth fixed...but never had he imagined she would be so... well, good. And now that he lay on top of her, naked and ready, he couldn't help but face what he had done. Hermione liked Ron...hell, she proubly loved him. And he sure as hell knew he loved Ginny...this was all so terribly wrong. But the way Hermione looked at him...how she felt inside of her...he needed to take this all the way. Stealing himself, he found his way inside of her, and eased his way in. She gasped, her nails cutting into his flesh in a strangly pleasing way. "I'm sorry!" he whispered, desperately concerned he may have hurt her.

"No...its fine..." she whispered, feeling that talking to him was making her feel more guilty then she already felt. "Just be quick...it won't hurt after a little while..." Harry obliged her, and with a deep thrust, she could feel him deep within her, sending ripples of pleasure through her arched body. He started slowly, working his way through her gently, yet firmly, touching parts of her never touched before. The pain quickly subsided, and soon all that was left was pleasure. After a moment of hesitation, she began trying to match moves with Harry, causing a few moments of discomfort until they reached an equal pace, moving as one person. She could no longer hold bach her exclamations of pleasure, and they came issuing forth in the form of 'Harrys' mixed with cries of ecstacy. She didn't care that this was a dorm with other people...she only cared for the moment her and Harry were sharing. All thoughts and concerns were washed from her mind, and she kept up the pace, continuing to move with his thrusts in inexperienced yet enthusiastic movements.

He felt it coming before she did...the rush of pleasure began to rise forth as he continued all the harder with the blinding passion it brang. As it became too much to hold back, he offered one last powerful thrust and held it as he let loose within her, her back arching in symotanious orgasm. For a few seconds, they were both blinded with heaven, completely lost within a place meant not for mankind, for it's gift was too beautiful for us to know. He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavy along with her, her breasts rising and falling, glistening in the moon light. They laid still for what seemed an eternity to them, lost within the bliss sex can bring, glowing in the comfort they had brought eachother. Harry had forgotten everything... He wasn't the cause of so many deaths... he wasn't the harbringer of death and destruction... he was simply, Harry Potter, the boy who knew utter bliss. This was a way to escape it all...he had found his cure. Hermione... she was his angel. His saviour...the one who had came forth to deliver him from himself. He was free... free to be happy, and it was thanks to her.

She embraced harry, lost in the bliss of the moment. It felt nice...it felt great. THIS is what she had been missing out on for so long... this is why sex is always on the minds of students. It was amazing...unlike anything she had ever known. Careful not to disturb Harry, she took her wand from the nightstand and silently cleaned up the blood, and set it back down, eager to hold as much of Harry as possible. He was a great man...she couldn't dare call him a boy after all the horror he had seen. After all the terror that had consumed his life, she couldn't help but feel good that she had given him something to be happy about. It felt great to offer him something better then what the world had given him. _But Ron...what will he do when he finds out?_ She thought, guilt running through her like a hot knife. And what about Ginny? She would never talk to her again. No...she couldn't think about it. This couldn't ruin their friendships...or worse, their loves. She loved Ron with all her heart, and Harry loved Ginny. They could never know. She would never tell them. This would be their secret... but for tonight, they would simply enjoy the moment they shared.

Alone in the dark, Ginny watched them fall asleep together, her eyes never leaving Harry. Something evil rose up in her... something so terrifying and horrible she couldn't stop it from taking over her. She wanted to curse them both into oblivion. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear the room apart. But she simply laid there, having watched her closest friend and the man she loved take each other's virginity right before her very eyes. She didn't bother trying to stop the tears from falling. She didn't try to be brave, like she always did for Harry. For Harry, who had saved her from Tom Riddle. For Harry, who had saved the wizarding world from Voldemort. For Harry, who had chosen her over all the women in the world...

But he hadn't chosen her. She should have known...Hermione and him were always together...of course they were in love. It was bound to happen...wasn't it? She, Ginny, had just been another girl to him. A new experience. He had spent nearly a full year with Hermione on the road, finding horacrux's, facing evil she barely could guess at, and for quite sometime, Harry and Hermione were alone doing so. Ron had left them...Ron, who felt so strongly for Hermione, dispite how he tried to hide it. Is that the real reason why he left them? Had he awoken to the very sight she had just seen?

Rolling over, Ginny cried herself to sleep, having no one but the pink pigmy arnold to comfort her.

Deep over the forests of Transylvania, a black tower loomed, casting it's shadow on the tree's far below. Glowing eerily in the full moon's lumination, it slowed to a stop, anchoring to seemingly nothing. Deep within it's confines, a long silver metal bed lay, barely visible in the near-total darkness. Something ivory glowed on the bed, laying flat and still. Deep within the darkness, a light appeared, glowing at the tip of a single golden strip of wood held by a pale hand. His foot steps echoed off the walls of the vast, empty room. The light fell upon the bed, and along with it, the ivory corpse that lay strapped to it. Red, snake like eyes stared blankly out of a flat head. No hair grew on the corpse's bald head. Naked and shamed, the corpse bore no markings of it's death, only the waxed and distorted human body of one who's soul underwent too much damage. Coming to a halt before the corpse, Michael Cain's face came into sharp reflection, his great black scar blantently cutting across the entirety of his face, from bottom left to upper right. Carrying a vial of some dark liquid, Michael opened the body's mouth, pouring the sickening potion down it's throat. The body shook violently, bound only by the shackles that connected it to the silver bed. Michael watched impassively as the body convulsed, finally comming to rest, eye's closed. Turning his wand ot the body, the shackles broke free with a loud _crack_, and the body rose in the air magestically, held by invisible strings at the command of Michael's wand. A second set of foot steps echoed along the corridor. Comming into spectacular clarity was a women of such beauty it seemed impossible for her to exist. She hesitated for a moment, seemingly off set that Michael did not acknowladge her presence. Before she had opened her mouth to speak, Michael's smooth, gentle voice cut across her.

"Are you familiar with the _dico mihi vestri fabula_ spell, Cadence?"

Caught off gaurd, she had to gather herself before answering. "It tells you where an object has been, I believe."

"You suprise me, Cadence." He smiled, pulling her into a kiss with his free arm. "I thought for sure I had you on that one...yes, _Dico mihi _ is used by many investigators to learn about the last known murder weapon's location. You would be surprised the story even a simple galleon would give you, with all the hands it has passed over to."

"Why do you ask, love?" She asked, tracing her fingers along his chest, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Let me ask you this first...what is a body after life has left it?" 

Thinking for a moment, Cadence looked up towards the marionette floating above her. Voldemort, the greatest dark wizard of all time, dead and shamed, floating like a ragdoll above them. Then it dawned on her. She pulled back from him, a look of amazement on her face.

"Your not seriously-"

"Indeed I am." Michael replied. Turning back to the floating corpse, he gave his wand a little flick, causing Voldemort to dance mid air at Michael's every whim. How pathetic he truly was to allow death to claim him...what kind of dark wizard allows himself to die? Michael threw the body against the wall, making a sickening bone crunching noise as flesh and bone broke. Walking towards the body, he continued. "The boy is reluctant to offer me aid, Cadence... so I need to improvise. If Harry Potter will not help me, Voldemort will. _**dico mihi vestri fabula!**_"

The room burst with light, filling every space with a bright expanding colidescope of colors. Reds, blues, and yellows all mixing and forming, coming together in a grand display of beauty. Slowly they began to blend together, like a painting slowly taking shape. Figures, objects and scenery began to follow, as the room darkened and rain fell from the newly made sky. A large brick building stood in front of them, light comming from windows all around. The night sky flashed with lightning, putting a pregnent women into sharp reflection. She stumbled about unsteadily, barely making it to the gate before she collapsed. Her eyes showed determination, but her body seemed on the verge of collapse. Her dark hair was matted with dirt and mud, and although it was clear her body had given out, she kept going, crawling on hands and feet. Through the mud, she gave an almight heave, pushing the gate open. Crawling on, she pulled her way to the door, desperately and with every ounce of her strength forcing herself onward. Pulling herself onto the entry landing, she rolled over, unable to move anymore. Michael watched on impassively as the memory continued, completely unphased by her difficulties. Cadence, however, was having more difficulty maintaining her composer: she couldn't bare to stare at the helpless women anymore.

The women reached up, and knocked on the door weakly. A few moments later, the door opened, and a young maid appeared. Looking down at the women, she rushed into the house, screaming for help. A group of women came to her aid, helping her over the threshhold, shutting the door behind her. 

"This is useless..." Michael spat, staring at the orphanage's post. "His birth isn't what interests me...I want to know about his death. _Dico mihi vestri fabula!"_

The scene melted once more. This time, it was voldemort the man, gliding out of a beat up shack, his snake floating beside him in a strange protective bubble. A single man awaited at the door. Worldessly, he fell in step with Voldemort.

"There must be some master tranfigurist within the grounds, my lord. We have been assalted from a variety of animated objects of amazing complexity." Began the tall death eater.

"You are surprised, Dolohov?" Voldemort's high, cold voice taunted. "That a school, posessing the best professor's the wizarding world has ever seen, would have a witch or wizard competent in transfiguration?"

"I-I am sorry, my lord. I did not expect-"

"Save your apologies. I am not interested in the difficulties your incompetency is giving you in completing your task...I am only interested in results. You will pull back our forces to the forbidden forest."

"But my lord, we are on the verge of-"

Catching his master's red eyed stare, Dolohov stopped.

"At once my lord. I shall send word to Severus immediately."

"Severus is no longer amongst us, Dolohov. See to it that we have our full forces withdrawn within 5 minutes." 

"I,,,Yes, my lord." Disappearing into the darkness, Dolohov left Voldemort to himself.

Continuing on, Voldemort was swallowed by the forest, visible through the trees only by the light given off by Nagini's protective barrier, until this too, was swallowed by darkness.

At once, the scene desolved back into blackness. Michael and Cadence stood in the near pitch black room, Voldemort's corpse crumbling to the gound.

"Dispose of the corpse. I must visit the forbidden forest." Brushing past Cadence, he turned on the spot and with a loud pop, was gone. Confused and disappointed at Michael's sudden disapperance, she turned her wand to the corpse that was Voldemort. It burst into flames, hotter and brighter then any natural fire could produce. Within seconds, only ash remained, along with a blackened skull a forth of the size it had once been. Staring blankly at the skull, a single tear rolled down her face. Voldemort's mother... why? Why did she suffer so? What ever happened to her? She held her stomach, more tears following. She could understand Voldemort's mother's determination; she was a mother, and no matter how hurt she was, she needed to make sure her baby was safe. But she, Cadence, would never be able to experience that joy.

Tears still running freely, she left the room, alone with her thoughts.

"Lumos." The darkness called out. A bright light appeared deep within the forbidden forest. Taking a moment to get his bearings, Michael began to stride ahead, purpose written on his face. Somewhere within this forest, something happened to Voldemort. Something that put him at a servere disadvantage to Harry Potter. His corpse knew this...even though the then living Voldemort may have never understood it. But whatever it was, Michael was determined to figure it out. Whatever bested the dark lord could be used to best him. Before he could try to force Harry to tell him what he needed to know, he needed to be ready for whatever Voldemort had not expected. All he had to do was follow the magic...and all magic, especially dark magic, left traces. He let his footsteps be guided by the magic in the air. Although much magic existed within the forest, he only needed to follow the strongest aura. Blasting through folliage and branches, he continued on, bemused by the small creatures that ran from him in terror. He was close...he could feel the hair on his arms raise from the intensity of it's strength. Truly, this must be the remains of Voldemort's magic. He had never felt anything so powerful in his life... compared to Voldemort, why, he was a child brandishing a stick. It was so intoxicating to stand in his glory... he may have even liked him if it wasn't for the fact that he hated him. Laughing softly, he continued on.

He stoped suddenly, a frown crossing his boyish face. This was the spot...there was no doubt...but the magic was all wrong. This was very old magic...far older then Voldemort. How long had this aura sat here dorment? Tracing the ground with the light of his wand, he came across a small, black stone, nestled within the leaves. It gave off an overwhelmingly powerful magical aura...few artifacts of Merlin himself gave off such power. Picking up the stone, he began turning it over in his hand. This was an amazing find...but why would such a potent magical item be discarded like this? And what did it do? Perhaps Harry used this upon Voldemort?

At once, 8 shadows swarmed around Michael. Instinct taking over, he pointed his wand at the closest one and cried out: "Avada Kedavra!" Green light shot out of his wand passing straight through the ghostly figure, colliding with a tree, which at once whithered into a lifeless hulk. Staring out at the shadows, Michael kept his wand at the ready. What were these things? Were they ghosts? "What are you?"

"What is this? Who are you?" A high, cold voice cried. They encircled Michael, drawing closer and closer until they were within arms reach. Fighting back his terror, Michael stared deeply into one of their eyes. All too familiar, red snake like eyes...

"NO!" He screamed, utterly horrified. He was dead! There was no way he could be seeing this! This was madness! "Your dead! You can't be here!" 

"How did you do it?" Another figure screamed. They weren't human. It was as if someone took a man and flayed him to bone... one held the look of a mutilated, savaged man. One bore no flesh, only bone and blood. Others were close enough to human...but distored, like wax melting or a blurred video. All had his eyes...those evil, red eyes that struck such terror into Michael. These...these things! They were Voldemort...8 voldemorts. But how? How had he-

It dawned on him. The stone...the ressurection stone. He looked at the small black stone in his hand, then returned his gaze to the figures around him. Why were there 8 Voldemorts...any why were they all so horribely mutilated? His mind racing, he began going through all he knew about the ressurection stone, but no lore or story spoke of an anomoly like this. So what could possibly...

Horacrux's! Michael stared at the fragments of voldemort's soul. These were the pieces of Voldemort's soul! So that meant he made seven horacrux's. But why seven? If he was going to make multiple horacrux's... which was a magical art only known to Voldemort...wouldn't he want six horacrux's, for a seven part soul? Seven, thus enhancing his own magical power?

Staring at the figures, he lowered his wand. He was in no danger...they could not harm him.

"You are lord Voldemort, are you not?" He asked, trying to sound braver then he felt.

The figures grew silent. One amongst them, the most human looking of the bunch, stepped forward.

"I am. How did you bring me back from death?" His eyes burrowed into Michael's like knives. There was no compassion or gratitude in them, only malice and hatred.

Casually putting the stone into his pocket, Michael smiled, trying to maintain his calm composure. _ So...Voldemort didn't know about the ressurection stone. _ He thought, his eyes glinting evily. "Why do you ask? Are you upset that I have disturbed your rest?" 

Fear crossed their faces. Some cried out in horror. It was clear their 'rest' had not been that peaceful...or plesent. "Do not send me back!" He cried, absolute horror griping him. He couldn't return! He would never go back! He would enver endure that pain again!

"So, you wish to stay with the living then?" Michael mused, suddenly aware of the power he held over the greatest dark wizard of all time.

"Of course I do fool! How dare you taunt me?" Voldemort raged. If only he had his wand...no one dares to speak in such a manner to lord Voldemort!

"I would prefer if you didn't speak like that to me, 'my lord'." Michael laughed. "Or perhaps I should just send you back where you came from?"

Voldemort's eyes flashed with utter hatred. How DARE this boy threaten him? But what could he do? He was powerless... this boy held his only chance at life. The only other alternative was death. As much as it sickened him...Voldemort knew...he had to play along. Perhaps, he may even be able to fool the boy into finding a way for him to get new body. Yes...He must stay his rage for now. If he were to find a way out of death, he must go back to his old ways. After all, no one was able to resist the charm of the boy Tom Riddle...

"I...I am sorry...I am simply overcome by the sudden return to life. I should thank you, mr...?"

"Cain." He answered. _Well...it looks like it ill be easier to manipulate Voldemort then i had originally anticipated. _"Michael Cain."

"Mr. Cain, I am in your debt. Is there any way I can repay the favor?" Voldemort asked as convincingly as he could muster.

"Indeed, you can..." Michael replied, a hungry, evil expression crossing his face. "You can start by telling me about your horacrux's."


	3. Chapter 3

Harry Potter

and

_The Soul's Silhouette_

__**I do not own harry Potter**

** Chapter 1: The Black Tower **

_it is a curious thing to contemplate one's own mortality..._

Pressed dark against the moon lit sky, the black tower silhouetted itself against the piercing night's illumination. Floating ominously over the still, silver lake, it mirrored itself below; a perfect mettalic black marred only by a single balcony at it's peak. Standing pale against the soft light illuminated behind him, the young man stood. His black eyes traced the horizon, dancing along the rolling hills that greeted them. A cold wind played across his pale hands resting on the balcony, reaching above and beyond to his long, ebony hair, rolling it along in it's wake. Short and thin, one might be careless enough to assume him nothing more then a teenage boy. Only his face told of his age, not by virtue of it's boyish apperance, but by the worn look it carried. Clothed in flowing robes of black, gold and white, he took little notice of the night's bitter cold, lost in thought with noone but the moon to accompany him.

_It makes all things seem less fulfiling or meaningful. What pursuit in life can be taken with us into death? What can be made eternal in such finate conditions?_

His eyes turned towards the moon, shinning bright within the night's sky. A golden glint shone from his side; a golden wand bore with red streams illuminated like a star from the moon's light, sending the man's face into sharp definition. His boyish good looks were marred by a single black scar that cut from his lips through to his right eye, standing out boldly against his pale skin.

_It is no wonder why he fears death. Why he has pursued the boy mercilessly. It is the boy that he fears...more then he feared the late Dumbledore. But why? What makes him so certain that this boy can threaten him so? Has he truly bought into that "chosen one" talk? No...it can't be just that. He would need more then a misguided public's_

_opinion to take action. He is far too intellegent to be taken by the masses. Although I suppose it is irrelevent WHY he has chased the boy so far....He has him cornered, backed into a wall with no where to run. Tonight...everyone shall see if he is indeed the chosen one._

Quiet stole the night as the wind stoped cold. Many years had he waited for this night. Voldemort's 13 year disapperance had been completely irrelevent...for how could he have put into action all his dreams while Dumbledore still drew breath? Yet like a snake, voldemort crawled out of his hole to strike back, this time taking his greatest enemy to the grave. Dumbledore had fallen...but worse then this great opponent stood Voldemort, infinately more merciless in his tolerance for his ambitions. It was such an irony that the two greatest wizards of the age would also become his greatest opponents. It was always them that made him hide...them that forced him into seclusion. Yet if it was true...if Harry Potter was in fact the chosen one...then he could finally continue with his great work. No more hiding, no more masking his moves....yes, what a glorious day it would be if the greatest dark wizard woild fall on this night.

A loud cry of a raven cut across the lake, tearing through the silence and the man's thoughts. Comming to rest upon the balcony, the raven cawed up at his master, spreading out silver stained wings as he streched. Regarding the bird a moment, he lifted him up and carefully unfurled the note tied to his leg. The raven took flight, entering the tower behind him, leaving the man alone.

22 seconds.

The note continued to count down on it's own merit, even after he tossed it to the winds mercy. Pulling his wand out, he closed his eyes as he began to mumble archaic words, forming strange geographic shapes of deep gold as his wand danced through the air as if it were solid parchment. As more and more complex shapes arose, his movements quickened, until he was a blur of arcane words and gestures, finally turning about face and dragging his wand along a seemingly very solid air, fighting some unseen resistance until...

"SOLVO FRENUM!"

An explosion of silver light flashed from the tower top, bright as the moon above. The defining boom echoed across the lake, sending ripples across its surface. For a moment, nothing more occured, but as if an invisible drape were disturbed, the air around the tower began to ripple. The invisible curtain fell slowly along it's surface, disappearing just before it hit the lake's surface. Pointing his wand at a seemingly empty, random spot, he stood stock still, as if expecting something. For a few seconds, nothing occured. Suddenly, a loud crack broke the silence; a kneeling cloaked women , deeply robed, appeared where the man pointed his wand. Deep purple eyes found his from deep within her cloaked hood, sparing the wand a glance before standing to her fullest. The man's wand fell to his side as she withdrew from her cloak.

"Has the dark lord fallen?" He asked.

Sliping from her cloak, she turned to face him again. Something about her beauty seemed too perfect; for she was indeed, a beauty that none but the veela could rival. Long dark hair fell and swayed perfectly along a lithe figure. Olive skin on perfectly formed legs showed through a high slited purple and gold skirt, flowing perfectly into a low cut purple and silver top. Her eyes showed no inkling of compasion: only purpose.

"The dark lord died from his own spell. Not sure what's protecting that boy, but it reflected the dark lord's avada kadavra curse. I wasn't aware any magic could deflect a curse of that power..."

"You are certain?" He asked, his eagerness betraying his composer. "You saw him die yourself?"

"I was there when it happened, just as you asked of me."

Falling back into a chair, he closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. So many years....how he had waited for this day to come. There were dark moments when he had feared he may never be free of the dark lord's shadow, or Dumbledores piercing eyes. The only wizards he had ever feared were now no more then a bad memory. Grindlevald, found dead in his cell, Dumbledore betrayed to his death, and now Voldemort, murderer of the best wizards of the age, defeated by the boy he failed to kill when he was no more then a baby. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of the chair. He barely noticed his wand slip from his hands as it landed on the floor with a loud crack.

"Michael..." She asked, rushing to his side. "Michael, are you alright?"

Opening his eyes, Michael regarded her with a smile. Touching her face gently, he looked up at her with his dark eyes, but his look was one of loving care.

"I haven't felt this alright in thirty years, Cadence." Letting his hand fall to his side, he looked up into the sky. The night sparkled with heaven's lights, and each one shined only for him. Thousands of miles away, at Hogwarts, the corpse of his enemy lay wasted at the hands of a mere boy. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, had defeated the greatest dark wizard the world had ever known.

"Would you like me to put the Frenum charm back in place?" Cadence asked, taking out a lavender wand.

"No more need...." A soft, dark laugh escaped his lips. Michael returned to his dark composer; calm, cool and deadly. "With the fall of

V-Voldemort, who do we have to fear? Let them apparate."

Picking up his wand, Michael swept from the balcony into his room, Cadence close behind.

The room held a dark, majestic aura. Black tomes and bloody pages in frames lined the ebony walls. A spectacular mural of angels falling before an onslaught of demons covered the rolling, dome ceiling. A large pearl white carpet fell below this. Occasionally, the demons would drag an angel across the walls, violently tearing his wings off before devouring the helpless creature. The battle raged across the room; the silent fury of a demonic horde left to it's own designs. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes of various age and condition. Shelves of odd chemicals and strange supplies filled an entire wall, some with vials of still living creatures despreately attempting to escape their fate. A large half dome hung from the ceiling, filled with a strange black substance that boiled with such vigor only magic kept it within it's container. A grand bed laid against the back wall, draiped in black silk blankets with golden trim. Grim, moving pictures of terrifying duels stood on tables beside the bed, along with a single picture of Michael and Cadence in a deep embrace.

With a simple flick of his wand, a cabnet burst open, a bottle of fine wine floating along at his command, trailing along with it 2 glasses.

"I bought this wine thirty years ago just for this moment..." With another casual flick, the cork popped off, the bottle filling generous amounts of wine into both glasses. Smiling down into his glass, Michael's black eyes reflected from it's depths. "Thirty years I have been delayed. Thirty years of frustration and fear..."

Drawing close to him, Cadence put her arm around him, allowing him to drink from her glass. Kissing him gently, so caressed him as she spoke. "No magic can bring back the dead...and with his horacrux's gone, he is gone-"

Wine flew across the floor, the glass shattering onto the floor. withdrawing like a wounded animal, Cadence grasped her wrist, looking hurt and confused. Michael had knocked her arm off of him, a sudden shock gripping him.

"Michael? Why did yo-"

"Did you say Horacrux's?"

"well....yes, but-"

"As in MORE then just one? The dark lord made MORE then one?"

"Yes...but why-"

'How do you know this?"

"I'm just saying what that Potter boy was saying, thats all! He told the dark lord he no longer could hide behind his horacrux's."

Dumbstrick, Michael stood for a few moments in shock. Horcacrux's? It would be foolish to assume the greatest dark wizard of all time did not possess a horacrux, but had he really found a way to create more then one? Could the human soul sustain such massive damage? Spliting your soul once was dangerous enough, but twice...? Or had he done more? How many horacrux's did Voldemort create?

"Michael....? Whats wrong?"

Wordlessly, Michael began searching his book shelves, tossing aside novels with a single minded determination. Pulling out a book seemingly binded with skin, he quickly began flipping through its pages. Somewhere in here, there must be a passage....a note, anything pertaining to what he needed to know.

"Michael, what are you-"

"Leave me, now." He replied, not taking his eyes off the book.

"But-"

Stuck silent from the look he shot at her, she gave up on him. Hesitating for a moment, she gave him one last hurtful look before disapperating.

There was nothing....not a single refrence in _secrets of the darkest art_ on multiple horacrux's. Voldemort had been the first to attempt such a daring act. Truly brilliant....there was no doubt why he was such a great wizard. But just how far did he go? How far could he, Michael, go to ensure his own immortality? Was three splits the limit? Or did Voldemort go further? If he couldn't find the answer in these books...where could he go to find the truth?

Staring blankly at the wall, Michael watched lost in thought as a group of angels took the upperhand against a lone demon, holding him down while another angel impaled him. The demon writhed in pain, but eventually grew still. Voldemort had fallen...someone had discovered his secret and destroyed his horacrux's, then took his life. How they came ot this knowledge...well, it was not important. What was important was that that someone knew exactly how many times Voldemort has split his soul.

Dawning his traveling cloak, Michael turned on the spot, and was soon sufficated in darkness, pulled through nothing as if sucked through a straw. Only one thought crossed his mind as he appeared at the border of Hogwarts: The boy who lived had some questions to answer.

"Harry?"

Hermione's voice broke Harry's trance. He had been staring deeply into the lake, lost in thought. He had almost forgotten Hermione was beside him; his mind was lost in the day's events. He was exhasted...Nearly 2 full days without sleep. It seemed an eternity ago he came out of Grignots riding a vicious, deadly dragon that had been just as intent upon killing him, Hermione and Ron as the army of goblins they were escaping. It was seemingly forever ago that he stood in Amberforth's home, trying to find a way into Hogwarts. But it was the memories he wanted to seem forever ago that were still fresh in his mind: George's death, Lupin's body beside Tonk's, all the wounded and dead students he had grown up with, fighting to fend off Voldemort's forces. And Voldemort himself. Staring into his red snake eyes in the forbidden forest. Watching him lift his wand that took his, Harry's, life for the briefest of moments. And finally standing his ground against him, face to face, in the final moments of Voldemort's life. That final cry of hatred Voldemort echoed in his mind. That last look of evil in those rage filled red snake eyes would forever haunt him. He was drained...emotionally wasted. He needed time alone, which was fine for Ginny and Ron to give him. George was dead, and the family needed to be together to grieve for their loss. But Hermione...as much as he yearned for time alone, he couldn't help but be thankful for her staying with him. It was comforting to have a friend like her close by.

"Harry, whats bothering you?"

"I-" He was on the verge of saying 'I'm Fine', but something in her concerned expression stoped him. Her and Ron had been there with him through it all. True, he went alone to face Voldemort, but they had always had his back, no matter how bad things got. He could trust them with anything, so why should he hide it now? Before he knew it, he was telling her everything. How he had felt when he walked to his death to face Voldemort, how he felt responsable for everyone who died to protect him, how he felt the Weasley's would and should stop talking to him because of George. Harry felt the burden grow more and more as he spoke, feeling the weight of all that had happened since he first put the sorting hat on 7 years ago.

"Evreryone is treating me like a hero just because Voldemort is dead. That won't bring everyone back to life...everyone who died because of me." Harry's eyes bured with tears, but none fell. Burying his head into his arms, he found a little beatle crawling along his robes. This reminded him of Rita Skeeter, writter for the Daily Prophet, and remembered how she didn't bother to mention Cedric Diggory in her report on the triwizard tournament. Cedric...just another person who wouldn't have had to die.

"You can't blame yourself for what Voldemort and the death eaters did." She consoled, offering him a gentle hug. It was comforting, and for a bit, he felt as if the burden on his chest was easier. She pulled away, and at once he wished she didn't; the weight came back as strong as ever. "Your a good person Harry. Evreyone at Hogwarts will tell you the same thing. Well, maybe not Grawp, but if he knew the words I'm sure he would too!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh. That was normally Ron's job...making jokes, or lightening a horrible situation, but she was trying, and that meant a lot to Harry.

Looking down the lake, they watched the herd of Centaurs rush along the battle-worn school grounds, Grawp laughing and running behind them, in complete bliss with the world. It was a beautiful mourning...the sun glistened off the lake's surface like a million diamonds all fighting to glitter brighter then the rest. A soft breeze carried it's refreshing wave across the gounds, carrying away the smell of ash and war that still lingered in the battle's wake. But why did he feel a draft going through his robes? After a moment inspection, he found a large tear in the back of his robe. Without thinking about it, he reached into his pocket to take out his wand but discovered two there. How could he have forgotten? He had the wand of destiny still....he had to return it to it's proper resting ground. Taking out his regular wand, Harry repaired the tear and stood up.

"Hey, I need to return Dumbledore's wand. I'll be right back."

"Alright....I'll wait for you." Hermione smiled, staring back out at the lake, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Hey Harry!" She called out, stopping him midstep.

"Yeah?"

Her eye's pierced him in a way he only ever felt from Dumbledore, as if she was looking for something in him. Her smile never faultered.

"...He would be proud of you."

Her words stuck with him as he walked on. Dumbledore, proud of him? Why? Because he caused the deaths of so many people simply by existing? Sure, Dumbledore might offer him all the praise in the world, but what did he know? What did anyone know? Why didn't anyone else see that these simple facts?

Students passed him by as he went, laughing and smiling, cheering and praising Harry as a hero wherever they came across him. It was almost too much; how could they be so ignorant? Didn't they know that all this death was because of him? So many lives could have been saved if he hadn't come to Hogwarts...there must have been an easier way. What about the vanishing cabinets? Why hadn't he thought of them? He would have been right beside the horacrux....he could have gotten it and been gone, then had more time to plan how to Kill Voldemort. Why did he, Harry, always have to make the wrong decisions?

Harry's brooding was interrupted when he noticed he wasn't the only visitor to Dumbledore's grave. Standing, draped in marvelous robes of black, gold and white, stood a pale, dark hared man, no older then harry. He stood stock still, statue like, as if the grave held some important information for him that he may never get if it noticed he was there. There was a slightly troubling air about the man. Something about him reminded Harry of a distant nightmare long forgotten. Approaching catiously, Harry tried to catch the man's face before he took notice.

"Harry Potter." The man began, without ever turning around. "I am honored to meet the hero of Hogwarts....no, the hero of the wizarding world at large." He faced Harry, purely black eyes meeting deep green. Holding out a hand, Harry took it uncertainly.

"Um...yes....who are you?" Harry asked, not sure what to say.

"I am Michael Cain. And you, are the boy, no, the man who can solve my problem."

**I look forward to your reviews! My next post will be on may 23!**


	4. Chapter 4

Harry woke up early the next mourning. The sun had just broke the horizon, sending golden rays into the Gryffindor dorms. Shrugging the tired off of himself, Harry got up, damning the headache that plagued him. He had a plan, and he intended to not let anything stop himself this time. Throwing some robes on silently, he descended into the empty common room.

Crossing into the school grounds, Harry made his way down the lake's shore line, going over the hill where below the white tomb would lay. Bathed in golden sunlight, it stood out from the surroundings like Dumbledore himself had stood out from the rest of the world in life. But to his dismay, he found that he was once again not alone.

Standing quite alone, the blonde haired Draco Malfoy seemed lost in thought before the grave. Not quite sure what to expect, Harry continued on hesitantly, his had around one of the two wands in his pocket. Draco made no acknowledgment of Harry's presence at first, even when Harry stood beside him. After a few moments of silence, Draco spoke.

"It isn't fair, you know." His voice seemed to crack, like he was fighting tears. "Why the hell does everyone give you such hero worship? Your were a fucking baby…it's not like you beat him. I saw his spell reflect off of you. Everyone thinks you're a fucking prodigy, but your nothing other then a kid who got lucky."

"I never said I was any different." Harry began, anger starting to build inside him. So he thinks I enjoy this shit? "You're the one who thinks I ask for it."

You don't do you?" Draco lashed back, and despite the anger in his face, his eyes were red. "So What the fuck have you been doing this whole time? Fighting dementors, closing the chamber of secrets, breaking into the ministry, stealing from grignots….anything to get attention! Just cause you have some weird protection you keep throwing yourself into danger, so the Prophet can have you as their front page."

"I didn't have a choice!" Harry roared back, his hand shaking on his wand, which had somehow found his side. "And who the hell are you to tell me shit? You sided with Voldemort, you let death eaters into Hogwarts-" Pointing his wand at Draco's chest, he continued relentlessly. "And it's because of YOU Dumbledore is dead!"

Draco's eyes suddenly filled with tears. He did nothing to defend himself, not even raising his wand in defense. "Snape killed him! You know that! The dark lord MADE forced me into it! You don't have a family to worry about, your family is dead! He would have murdered mine, and unlike you, I would have given a damn about what would have happened-"

•A flash of light struck Draco in the chest. He keeled over, Gasping in pain as his skin turned red like a terrible sun burn had overcome him in an instant. Harry felt the rage run through his veins, and the only vent was the suffering of his hated enemy. This arrogant bastard child who obsessed with the dark arts had plagued him for so many years. He was out of school now, and they were both adults. Now he could exact every bit of pain and anger he wanted upon him. Seeing him blister and boil brought a dark satisfaction to Harry, an evil he never felt before, and for a moment, he felt his hand raise his wand again, ready to deliver more undo harm to the cowardly prat before him, but he gathered himself.

Don't…you ever…." Harry began, memories of his parents continuing to flash before his eyes. "EVER tell me I don't give a damn about them." Draco looked up from the ground, his face burning red with blisters and boils. "They died fighting Voldemort. They gave everything to make a better world, which is a hell of a lot more then can be said about the cowardly psychotic lot that raised YOU!"

Within a moment, Draco had drawn his wand and two flashes of light collided. Harry countered, animating some of the lake's water, sending it cascading in the form of 3 magnificent phoenix' that attempted to envelope Draco, which broke worthlessly over a hasty shield spell that surrounded him. The shield turned into a black aura of shadow, and with Draco's command, rushed Harry like a storm. With a quick flick of his wand, Harry turned the burning hot cloud into warm steam, which washed over him harmlessly. He had barely enough time to act when Draco sent out a gout of flame from his wand, intent upon devouring him. The strength of Harry's shield not only protected Harry; it knocked Draco to the ground, sending his wand flying in the air. With a quick _accio, _Harry snatched the wand from mid air and stood over his defeated opponent, his mind racing with what spell he should use against him. Before he could decide, however, he felt his wand go flying from his hand, landing beside him. Turning to see this new enemy, he found professor McGonagall and Michael Cain rushing down the grounds, Michael stuffing his wand away. Damning his luck, he took back his wand and stuffed it in his robes, hatred still flooding ever portion of his mind.

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall cried, her eyes looking at the scene before her. "What is the meaning of this?"

•"Clearly, head mistress," Michael answered, his voice calm and controlled. "it would appear that Mr. Potter feels he has been wronged by the Malfoy child." His black eyes danced across the scene, resting a few moments upon the slightly injured Draco who looked back with fear and hesitation.

"He insulted my parents!" Harry blew up, his eyes pleading with the professor who seemed ill inclined to accept his reasoning for battling upon Dumbledore's grave

"….Mr. Potter," She began calmly, but her rage was evident. "While you are no longer a student at Hogwarts, I do expect you to follow all the guidelines we have placed upon the grounds, and I trust you know, your previous rule breaking not withstanding, that dueling over the grave of Albus Dumbledore is WELL outside proper conduct!"

" Forgive me, headmistress, but my time is short." Michael stated, seemingly uninterested in McGonagall's rage. "Perhaps we can continue our conversation in your office?"

For a brief moment, it seemed as if McGonagall would deny him, but taking a deep breath, she answered. "Yes…Mr. Potter, I want you in my office at 12.00.."

"Yes, professor." Harry answered. Without explaining, Harry moved toward the white tomb, placing the wand of destiny upon it. For the briefest of moments, he hesitated, his mind on all the possibilities that such a wand could bring him, but just as fast, he gathered himself once more, taking out his own phoenix feather wand, he tapped the death stick, muttering "_Descendo_" and at once, the wand disappeared into the grave below.

Now why the hell did this have to feel so damn amazing and awkward at the same time?

Ron had his arm around Hermione, her head resting on his chest. They both stared silently into the fire, lost within their own thoughts. This IS what he had wanted, after all. He did have the girl he loved beside him, and it did feel great…but something about the newness of the experience shared between them still felt odd. But who the hell cared? Being this close to Hermione was great, and he wasn't about to let it end. They had had little time since Voldemort's death to just enjoy what they shared, that being love. The war had taken so much from everyone, and with the loss of his brother, this was the only thing he had to keep himself happy. He wanted desperately to leave Hogwarts, and he felt their departure that afternoon couldn't come soon enough.

"I'm gonna have to give Harry props for turning Malfoy into a lobster . Fucking brilliant." Ron smiled, his memories resting upon the hastily and ill covered Draco being rushed into the infirmary.

"It was NOT brilliant, Ron." Hermione retorted, continuing to allow him to hold her close. "He should know better then to let Malfoy provoke him like that."

"Who says he was provoked?" Ron answered, seeing in his mind's eye the Malfoy ferret bounce up and down like a yo yo. "It's our last day here. I would have killed to get a chance to try a few new hexes on the prat."

"Ron….your hopeless." Hermione sighed, cuddling up closer to him.

The sound of footsteps announced Ginny's presence. She took her seat on the floor in front of them, playing with Arnold the pigmy puff. Adjusting slightly in his seat, Ron felt a bit of discomfort in the form of metal on his chest Hermione was applying pressure to. Breaking away for a moment, he took out the necklace that had once held the horacrux he had destroyed. He didn't know why he kept it…probably just a momento of his accomplishment in helping to defeat Voldemort. But it was icy cold now. Really odd…

"You STILL keep that thing?" Ginny asked, her eyes growing large staring at it.

"Well, yeah….it can't really harm anyone anymore, right?" Ron answered.

"Ron…" Hermione began. _Here she goes…._Ron thought. "I don't know if it's safe to keep something like that around…."

"Oh yeah, come on Hermione, did YOU just toss away that cup and tiara?" Ron replied, feeling satisfied as she turned slightly red.

"I don't keep it on my PERSON, Ron." She answered, pointing to her purse that held considerably more then it would appear to be able to. "Even the remains of a Horacrux contain a lot of dark magic."

"Well…it can't hurt a person, can it?" Ron asked, uncertainty creeping up in him.

"No. but it can act up sometimes…" She answered mysteriously. "Things opposed to a horacrux' nature have been known to come across misfortune when in close proximity. Think of it like an unluck spell, except only on things that are human, like love or compassion."

"….Oh…." Ron replied. That explained it's sudden coldness. Maybe it wanted to ruin their love? _Good luck with that_. Ron thought setting it on the table beside them. He wasn't about to stop wearing it. He felt a certain sense of pride wearing a 7th of Voldemort's soul around his neck. And he wasn't about to loose that one real feeling of accomplishment.

"Anyhow, any of you have any idea what Michael was doing here with McGonagall?" Ginny asked, letting Arnold attempt to bite her finger.

"Beats me…" Ron answered stretching back out. "Maybe he wanted to bang the hell out of her. I pity to bloke if he did, but-"

"No Ron, try to be serious here." Hermione said, looking exasperated.

"I doubt someone like him would need to be chasing older women." Ginny answered. Her and Hermione shared a smile that sent a shot of jealousy through Ron.

"ANYHOW." Ron said loudly, attempting to remind them that he was present and not at all too keen on knowing who his sister and his love found attractive. "The bloke was probably after something not so good, but who gives a fuck? McGonagall would see through him like nearly headless Nick."

"I don't know Ron…" Hermione answered. "We know he is up to no good, but McGonagall doesn't know that. And with no proof, I don't think she would hear us out anyhow."

"Are you serious Hermione?" Ginny asked. "Have you ever tried lying to her? She's more watchful then a hawk, that one."

•Shrugging, Hermione got up, taking her bag with her. "I'm going upstairs, need to get some stuff ready."

Taking her time, Hermione packed her things. There were so many memories here she had…bad and good. The first year had been terrible at its beginning. No friends or comfort, she desperately just wanted to feel like she belonged in this new world she had been shown. Despite how frightening the troll incident had been at the time, she couldn't help but smile thinking back on it. That troll had given her two friends she would never loose. She valued everything about Ron and Harry…even Ron's stupid freckles. Come to think on it, It was ultimately Voldemort that had unleashed that troll through his servant. And thus, it was Voldemort that had brought them together. Taking the cup within her purse, she examined it. This destroyed part of Voldemort had been part of a whole that had brought her more love then she could have ever known. It was no longer the beautiful artifact it had once been…from bottom to top it had turned black, and a large still smoldering section was missing from where she had sent the basilisk fang into it's front. It was so odd to consider how much had changed in her life since she had found Harry and Ron.

Ron came in quietly, setting her purse down beside her. Turning, she found him a lot closer then she had expected, but it was welcome. He stared at her for a moment, and she was suddenly very aware of how quickly she was breathing.

"You…left it downstairs so I thought I'd…." He began. Stumbling as he looked into her eyes, he looked away, instead concentrating on the goblet in her hand. "I thought….you said they were…dangerous." He said clumsily.

"Yes…."She said. The cup was suddenly icy cold. She barely took notice, his warmth washing over him. "I was just…" Not knowing what to say, she stopped.

"Just holding a deadly, dangerous piece of the darkest magic known to the wizarding world?" He said with a smile. His joke broke the atmosphere of awkwardness immediately. Laughing softly, she continued to eye him with a look of longing and uncertainty.

"Well you know…" She answered. "It's an occupational hazard of being friends with Harry."

•With a slow movement, Ron took the goblet from her, and set it down on the table beside them. Pulling her in close, she felt his body press against hers. Oh god, why did this feel so odd but so right? He moved in, taking her lips with his. She could feel her body react pleasantly…she shook slightly, enjoyment taking her as her body pulled into his. Pleasure tingled as his lips moved down onto her neck, grazing her skin softly. He pushed her down slowly onto the bed, his legs and her's intertwining as he began to suck on her neck. Pressing her hips against his crotch, he let out a low moan, her entire body tingling with anticipation. Their bodies moved together as he continued, her hands under his shirt on his back, her nails digging slightly into his back, leaving red marks but not cutting deeply. Ron let out a small gasp of pain and pleasure, his hand slipping under her shirt finding her breasts. Rubbing her erect nipples, she let out low moan as he bit onto her neck. And with the gasp came an almost silent word.

"…Harry…" Hearing the name she uttered, she stopped, pulling away from Ron. He got off of her, concern on his face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go so fast…" He said quickly. "I was just….well….heated."

"No, its alright!' She answered, thanking all aspects of creation that he did not hear her. "I just… I'm just not ready…"

"Okay. We don't have to if you don't want to." He replied.

•Getting up quickly, she fixed her clothing and left the room as fast as possible. It didn't feel right…It wasn't right at all. Oh god, she had been so into it….what turned her off so suddenly? Harry was a one night thing, that was all. It made no sense that it should make things between her and Ron uncomfortable. Sex with Ron was supposed to be easy, enjoyable and comfortable, not so….not so not right!. She loved Ron…every ounce of her knew this, so why didn't it feel right? And why the FUCK was it so easy with Harry?

How she wanted the invisibility cloak right then….she wished she could just disappear. She was so ashamed of herself, of her inability to give Ron what not only he had wanted for years, but what she too longed for. Sex with Ron meant they were official; together as a couple. That's how she wanted it to be. Then again, she always meant for Ron to take her virginity, NOT Harry. But why didn't she feel bad about Harry? It was a mistake, but why didn't it FEEL like a mistake? How can you be so comfortable with someone you don't love but feel completely wrong sleeping with someone you do love?

It made no sense at all….it was so insane. She could sleep with her love's best mate, but not with her love. And the worst part of it was that all she could think about was another night with Harry.

Thanking god for McGonnagal's forgetfulness, Harry came back to the common room half past noon. Not wishing to give her a second chance at punishment, he quickly began packing all his things. He would leave early for number 12 Grimmauld Place, and hopefully leave behind Hogwarts for good.

It would seem highly unlikely that the Auror's would turn him down a job after felling Voldemort, so completing his 7th year seemed a waste of time at a place he scarcely could stand to look at anymore. Besides, he had the gold to survive for a long time without worry, he reasoned unfolding multiple cloaks as he shoved them into his traveling case. There really wasn't any reason he would ever have to see the castle that stood only to remind him of all the lives lost because of his failure's again.

Casting a quick spell, the traveling case floated along in his wake as he left the room. Perhaps being an Auror wasn't a good path for him after all. Hadn't he caused enough pain trying to save others? Wouldn't he just end up causing more misery by continuing to play hero? Draco's reaction was perhaps the most honest opinion he had gotten. Wrong, but at least it said what many must be thinking. It was pretty sad...if he wasn't an attention seeking lair, he was a hero that saved the wizarding world. Couldn't anyone see the truth? He was only a failure, a failure with a mother's protective spell that could save no one but his own useless life.

Harry's brooding continued all the way to the gates, where he turned on the spot and with a loud _pop!_ he disappeared.

The atmosphere of Grimmald Place hadn't changed too much since his last visit. Most of the darker objects and items had been removed, but the linger of it's aura still flowed through the halls like an invisible gas. The portraits remained hidden from view, obscured by velvet hangings that lined the walls in regular intervals. Walking through the rooms, Harry continued to reflect upon his various failures, remembering all the people he had known that had once walked these halls, but would never come through here again.

Harry took his time unpacking. Feeling he didn't deserve his Godfather's room, he took Regulus' instead. The house remained in a state of suspended animation since he had last left it, save for a thin layer of dust that had taken to covering many surfaces. No longer under the care of Kreacher, the home had not known a true cleaning in sometime. Perhaps it was for the better; cleaning made it easier to not concentrate on the thoughts that were plaguing Harry.

The sound of movement in the room above him caught Harry's attention. Quietly, Harry withdrew his wand, proceeding up the stairs softly. There was no reason for anyone to be inside. His heart racing, he placed his hand on the doorknob, preparing himself for anything as he threw the door open.

Hermione stood quite shocked, wearing nothing more then her black bra and the dress skirt from school. Like a deer caught in headlights, she stood frozen, her eyes meeting Harry's for a second. Without knowing he still had his wand pointed at her chest, he froze up, not sure what to do until...

"HARRY!" She yelled, grabbing her wand from the desk and with a quick flick, her shirt rushed over to her. "What are you doing?"

Making to shut the door, but only succeeding at fumbling with the doorknob, he tried to back out, only to stumble into the wall beside him. "Sorry! I- I didn't know-...heard noises, I didn't know you were here!"

"Turn around!" She yelled, and Harry obeyed at once as she tossed it over her head, quickly recovering herself. "You should KNOCK sometimes, you know!"

Not daring to turn around, Harry continued his conversation to the wall. "Hey I'm really sorry, okay? How the hell was I supposed to know you weren't some death eater out for revenge or something?"

"You can turn around now." She said, fixing her shirt and mustering the most composer she could. "Just do try to be more careful Harry...if your gonna be staying with a girl you need to be more conscious of these things."

Feeling his cheeks burn red, he faced her trying to hide his shame. Feeling horribly awkward, he quickly changed the subject. "So...when did you get here anyhow?"

"Oh um..." She said quickly, obviously trying hard to do the same. "Like an hour ago. I...I wanted to get out of the school for a bit."

_I think I can get that pretty well..._ He thought darkly, trying hard not to think of what he had just seen. Finding that impossible, Harry let his eyes wander the room so he wouldn't have to look her in the eye because he was sure if he did he wouldn't be able to bear the shame. Mercifully, one item of interest stood out. The goblet of Helga Hufflepuff. "You still keep that around?" Harry asked, pointing it out.

"What? Oh, that..." She answered distractedly, giving the goblet a quick glance. Harry moved across the room to examine it. It was odd how warm it was; the room was still quite cool, but it was almost painfully warm to the touch. Then again, it was a deadly, dangerous artifact of evil magic...even the remnants of it must have some dark energy's attached to it. Turning, he noticed just how close he was to Hermione. He hadn't been this close to her since that night. He had expected her to step back, but she didn't, nor did she break eye contact with him. She had a strange look on her face... like she was expecting something. "I know its stupid...keeping something like that around-"

"No it isn't." Harry answered at once. "You should be proud. We all should." He smiled at her. Being this close wasn't a good idea...but Harry couldn't bring himself to pull away. He felt the longing return to him in an instant. Suddenly the idea of being so close wasn't such a bad idea. After all, they had already had sex, so it wasn't a bad thing. But it really wasn't enough. They were alone, single, and already had a history. So why the hell not? _Because she is your best mate's girl!_ He told himself furiously, trying to reason his way through his desires. _You don't go fucking your friend's lovers. It's bad enough you did it once. _But they aren't lovers. _You know they are angling for that._ But they still aren't together. _What do you need? Them to have some official title to make it wrong?_

"Well, thanks Harry..." She said, and with an unexpected spark of nerve, she moved in and kissed him.

Hermione rested her head on Harry's chest, her naked form covering him like the blanket they were wrapped in. It was everything she had hoped for...his gentle touch as pleasant as ever. Her body felt at ease again. No more tension or stress, just a wonderful feeling of completion. She wasn't sure which was worse: that she liked it or that she didn't feel quite so bad about it as she had their first time. Casually, she caressed his chest as she starred into the wall where Black's face had eye's only for Harry, a look of pride on his face. Stupid portrait...true to his character, but still, completely inappropriate. But hey, what she had done was inappropriate. If only her feelings were as clear as her thoughts...then maybe she could sense out why the hell she was giving herself to Harry and not the man she loved.

Michael collapsed to the ground, blood running down his face from a deep wound in his head. His vision was horribly maimed by the last blow the dragon had dealt him...his shield charm had barely managed to keep his head on his shoulders. But he didn't have time to consider his injuries; not when he was bearing down against a black scaled, fire breathing dragon.

The barbed tail slashed through the air with blinding speed, pieces of rock and earth preceding it as Michael's shield charm knocked the tail back with equal strength. Taking his momentary opening before the beast could strike again, he sent out a bolt of fire from his wand, landing full force into the dragon's exposed side. Knocked off balance, but uninjured by the dragon's protective hide, the beast rolled to it's feet, but was knocked back again by two more bolts of blinding white fire. Responding as it took to it's feet, the dragon sent out a gout of flame at Michael, who flicked his wand which at once turned his body into a metallic hue that turned white in the center of the blaze.

The landscape around the white metallic figure continued to burn as Michael stared the dragon down. It took many normal wizards to subdue such beasts...and often with much difficulty. _But I am no normal wizard._ Michael thought viciously as the dragon prepared it's next onslaught.

Watching with cold red eyes, Voldemort continued to watch the boy's progress. Defeating a dragon was no small feat for all but himself. Bellatrix had nearly died in her attempt. If Cain learned to do what she could not, then there was more promise in the boy's potential that may lead to his freedom from death. It would take major magical power to overcome the creature's hide, but if the boy could muster it from within AND without, he would be able to win.

The dragon took to the air, it's eyes fixed upon the white hot form below him. Taking in a deep breath, it shout out a gout of fire much larger and hotter then the one previous. Preparing himself, Michael focused his strength into a protective charm that surrounded him. Both charm and fire collided, creating a deafening explosion that shook the ground he stood on. Fighting to keep the flame at bay, Michael's spell pushed against the fire, which fought back with terrible power. Keeping his ground, he continued to force the fire back, inch by inch as he struggled to keep himself from succumbing to the weakness of his taxed body. Forcing with every ounce of his soul Michael fought on, until the shield charm pushed straight into the dragon's open maw, which snapped with a loud, sickening break of bone and sinew. The lower half of the dragon's mouth fell to the ground, as the creature cried out in agony. Taking advantage of the creature's opening, Michael carefully aimed his wand and cried out _Avada Kedavra!_ Sending a bolt of green light into the hole that had once been his maw. Falling from the sky, the beast hit the ground with enough force to send Michael to his knees, from which he couldn't find the strength to stand from. Gasping for breath, too exhausted to congratulate himself on his accomplishment, he stared at the ground, only now noticing the pain from his chest, head and leg all of which bled profusely.

"You are improving, Michael." Voldemort said, his eyes watching him pitilessly as he gasped for breath, bearing wounds that would surly kill him if he did not attend to them. "Only through such dangers can you ever learn to overcome your limitations." 

Getting the better of his lack of strength, Michael had to take many attempts before being able to succeed at casting a healing spell that restored his health. The very thought of attempting more spell work was impossible for him. Drained like he had never been before, Michael turned to face Voldemort. The torment he would put him through if only he weren't already dead...

"And I suppose THAT was something you did in your third year too?" Michael said sarcastically.

"No...it wasn't." Voldemort smiled wickedly. "I was nineteen when I first felled my dragon. But one must not weight his talents against mine, or they will only ever find disappointment."

How amusing it was to watch him struggle against a creature that he had so easily defeated decades ago. But no matter, he must not waste his time comparing his strengths to the ineptitude of others. He had a theory, and the only way to test this theory was through the use of this boy. But Michael was still not wise enough, nor powerful enough, to put lord Voldemort's plans into action. He had at least been competent enough to master the strength to recover his journal from Hogwarts. Maimed though it may have been by the ignorance of the Malfoy's, if he could see it repaired, he may yet retain a stronger connection to the world of the living. It was indeed a great blessing that Michael wished to learn the secret of multiple horacrux's, otherwise it may have proven much more difficult to fool him into repairing his old safeguards to immortality. _Indeed..._ He thought. _How could Michael ever understand my work without replicating it?_

"It is clear you have exhausted yourself. Perhaps we shall return to your quarters and continue our studies there?"

It was highly unlike Lord Voldemort to show concern for anyone's physical state. It had never been a surprise to Michael that the dark lord may have some secret plan regarding him, but whatever it may be, he wouldn't allow himself to fall for it. A powerless Voldemort was a highly desirable thing, and Michael Cain intended to keep it that way.

Wordlessly, Michael turned on the spot, and with a loud _pop! _He disappeared with the shadow of the dark lord.

Cadence stood quite alone in the bedroom her and Michael shared. She eyed herself in the mirror as if searching for something she couldn't quite find. Perhaps the mirror could tell her something she didn't know...or more likely, something she knew that was only a lie.

She had always worked so hard to remain as beautiful as Michael could ever want. Every time he saw him staring at a girl, or admiring the beauty of one of their classmates, she went to the mirror, and with a little bit of effort, took an aspect of her and replicated it. Being able to alter one's own appearance at will was perhaps her only worth while talent that had kept Michael happy. She was always, and always would be, his perfect beautiful wife, untouched by time or the world. It had been so long since she had been her normal self that she had forgotten what she looked like before she had met him.

Perhaps blonde hair would be a nice change for a while. Focusing hard, she concentrated at her reflection until perfectly straight, waist length blond hair overtook her wavy ebony hair. She smiled at the result. Yes...he would really like it. But what about her eyes? Purple didn't go well with her pale complexion and blonde hair. Maybe a deep blue would do the trick. Yes, that was really nice. She looked like that girl Michael dated in their third year...what was her name? Emily? He would be so happy to have a chance to sleep with her again, and now she could give him that chance.

She was always so happy that she could satisfy Michael's needs in a way any other women would never be able to. Michael could never stay long with a single girl...no, he always wanted new flavors, new feelings, new appeal. Every few months she would completely make herself over again, which kept him happy, and as long as he was happy, she felt complete. He was terrifying when angry, but the time she spent with him when they were alone was worth anything. She loved him in a way no one would ever understand...loved him so strongly that anything he ever wanted, he only had to ask and she would do it without hesitation. Maybe he didn't love her...and it was that thought that made her happy she could cover her scars with a simple alteration of her appearance. But even if he didn't, she would stay with him forever, cause one day he would see her utter and total devotion to him, and he would come around to love her back.

She quickly took off her outfit and began hunting for a new outfit that would appeal to her new look. Perhaps her blue dress would accent her eyes? Yes, that would look nice. Continuing through her wardrobe, she tossed a few garments here and there until she found the one she wanted.

"Well, this is a nice change." Michael's said, standing in the doorway. Quite naked, Cadence, smiled at him, half covered by the dress she held. "Normally your clothes are still on when I come home." Smiling, he made his way over to her within a few strides. Taking her in his arms, he kissed her tenderly, his hands gentle on her lower back.

Oh how wonderful it was to be close to him...so intoxicating...

"I'm glad your back..." She answered breathlessly. Letting herself be completely filled up by his prescience, she rested her head against his chest and played with the back of his robes.

"So am I." He answered. "I could really use you about now."

Offering him a seductive smile, she began undoing the buttons that tied together his robes. "Oh really? And just how could you use me, _my lord_?"

"Well you see, my lady..." Michael began, his hands running slowly down to her chest. Damn, how great it was to have a million different body's all put into one. "Spending many a hour with old dead guys makes you really appreciate the beauty of one like yourself...and what such beauty can offer to a worn out, frustrated man like myself."

His robes fell to the floor. Gently, she lead him to a chair where he sat down. Kneeling obediently, she began stroking his erection, tenderly and carefully sucking as he closed his eyes.

Whatever Voldemort had in store for him next, he didn't know or care. Tonight, he was going to make full use of his servent.


End file.
